


Mythos

by notwisely



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-15 10:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12319089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notwisely/pseuds/notwisely
Summary: The desert holds stories it will never tell.





	Mythos

**Author's Note:**

  * For [disgruntled_owl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/disgruntled_owl/gifts).



> Thank you so much to [primeideal](https://ao3.org/users/primeideal) who beta'd this for me!

_"... now, the traveler was weary from trudging through the sand and dust. If she had been less hungry, or less tired, perhaps she would have noticed that the sand lizards, usually skittering from crevice to crevice preparing for the evening's hunt, were completely still, and the desert was more silent than dusk could account for._

_"Instead, she had her eyes fixed on the dirt path before her, and her mind fixed on the hot meal and warm bed that awaited her at home. She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she nearly bowled over the old woman standing in the road, a wide-brimmed straw hat obscuring her face._

_"I'm sorry, madam," the traveler exclaimed, lifting up her lamp. The shadows behind her lengthened, and, unnoticed by the traveler, extended into sinuous, inhuman shapes that wreathed their patch of light._

_"Do you have a match, my dear?" the old woman asked, each word rasping and dry. The traveler did._

_"Would you have a sip of water for your old auntie?" the old woman asked, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. The traveler handed over her waterskin easily._

_"And a bite to eat for a poor wanderer?" the old woman asked, lifting her head to reveal the slitted, vicious eyes of a snake. She lunged forward, inhumanly fast, opening her mouth to reveal long, curved fangs that sank into the traveler's neck."_

"CHOMP." Chirrut lunges forward off the steps, scooping up six year old Dian and pretending to eat her as the semicircle of children shrieks in delighted horror.

"And that is why you must always watch the sand lizards, for a lizard knows best of all when a snake spirit is-"

"CHIRRUT. IMWE." The voice that interrupts is the kind that causes one to fix their posture and stop fidgeting in instant reflexive terror. Children scatter left and right with gleeful giggles as Chirrut attempts to straighten his robes surreptitiously.

"Ah, the fairest Mrs. Ma-"

" _Don't_ you start that with me, you scoundrel." Mrs. Ma stands a full head shorter than Chirrut, but somehow manages to tower with disapproval. She folds her arms over her apron, still damp in spots from the day's washing. "I won't have you coming around to terrify these rascals when _you_ will be sound asleep at three in the morning instead of crawling out of bed to check that a branch by the window is still just a branch."

"Frighten these warriors? Never!" Chirrut protests, "Any one of them could fight off a snake spirit single-handedly-"

Mrs. Ma's glower deepens.

"-but perhaps we've had enough storytime for today." Chirrut finishes. A true warrior, it's said, knows when they're beaten.

The kids trickle away in clumps of two and three. "Watch the lizards!" Chirrut calls after the last stragglers, before tilting his head toward where Baze is leaning grumpily against a wall a few meters away.

"You shouldn't scare the children." Baze says, walking over.

"Ah, a story won't keep them up at night," Chirrut says lightly. "A snake spirit's hardly a monster at all."

Baze grabs Chirrut's outstretched arm to pull him up, his gaze lingering on the Imperial soldier fidgeting at his post further down the street. He doesn't have to look at Chirrut to know that he too is thinking of the other soldiers, scattered across Jedha City like welts--thinking of their rooms at the temple, ransacked and empty.

" _And_ you skipped dinner, you idiot." Baze says gruffly, shoving a warm packet into Chirrut's hands.

"I _delayed_ my dinner, because I knew you would bring me," Chirrut unfolds the grease-stained paper and takes a bite, "the finest steamed vegetable buns in all of Jedha City!" he finishes delightedly, mouth full.

Baze flicks Chirrut on the forehead, "Let's go home."

The sun is dipping behind the tallest rooftops as they walk towards their rooms on the outskirts of town, the lengthening shadows bringing an autumn chill. They walk shoulder to shoulder, Chirrut's staff tapping out a steady beat as Baze complains about city officials who ask for someone to be roughed up then come whining back about the specific level of roughing involved. Chirrut, in turn, regales Baze with a reenactment of the screaming argument Old Man Lais and Mr. Ineyo had had over onions in the marketplace that afternoon.

The streets are nearly empty at this time of night, Chirrut's breath coming in white puffs as he swings his arms out to mime someone throwing a rotten tomato, nearly smacking Baze in the face in the process. It makes something nameless tighten in Baze's chest, to see Chirrut--always careful about his movements, always precisely aware of his surroundings--happy and loose enough to give up this measure of control.

There are are more cacti than homes now, the paved streets giving way to packed red earth--and further out, beyond the most remote buildings, stretches the deep expanse of the desert at night. Jedha is an old city, carved out of the rock, its bones made of sand and the scent of sagebrush. Jedha is an old city, but it perches on the edge of something older, something vast and indifferent. There are canyons gouged into the desert like deep scars, tracts of unexplored caverns that sunlight will never reach. There are tales of journeymen who never returned from their journeys, of echoing footsteps late at night from those doomed to wander the desert forever.

A sudden rustling from the bushes next to them jerks Baze out of his reverie as an owl bursts into the air with something small and wriggling clutched in its talons.

Baze doesn't react beyond a slight stiffening, his hand twitching towards his blaster, but he may as well have leapt a foot into the air--Chirrut is onto him.

"Monsters on your mind? Don't worry, I'll protect you from any hungry spirits!" Chirrut lunges dramatically towards the bush. Baze feels the tension drain from his shoulders as he watches Chirrut shake his staff threateningly at a plant. Everything important is here, and the monsters will have to go through Baze to get to it.

Naturally, Chirrut finds Baze's momentary twitchiness amusing enough to last the rest of the way home, flinging himself between Baze and imagined, unseen ghosts, sweeping his staff through the air and yelling "Go away!" at the velvet sky.

"This is why we don't have neighbors." Baze huffs as he swings the door open.

Later, Baze comes out of the bathroom and pauses, eyes catching on the golden lamplight spilling over Chirrut's bare shoulders where he's sprawled in their bed, taking up a good three-quarters of the mattress. Baze shoves him aside ruthlessly, crawling under the quilt, and tries to be subtle about curling himself protectively around Chirrut. Chirrut wiggles a little, tilting his head back for a kiss before settling.

"Want to hear a story?" he murmurs, and Baze nods wordlessly into the small of his back. "The desert is vast and unforgiving, but..." Chirrut's voice is soft and low as he spins a tale of quests and rebellions and heroes, and Baze drifts off, letting the words lull him to sleep.


End file.
